


Cold Pizza & Warm Hands

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 06:38:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4337738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Masako thought she had the basement lounge to herself. She was oh so very wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Pizza & Warm Hands

The week before her first midterm freshman year, Masako had found herself at a loss in terms of where to study. Her room, full of roommates and their friends watching television, had clearly been out of the question; the library was overcrowded and full of so many books that she’d found it impossible to think in the one time she’d tried doing homework there; all the coffee shops and fast food joints close to campus would close before midnight. In an effort to be thorough, she’d gone down to the basement lounge in her dorm building and discovered a cold room full of uncomfortable chairs—she hadn’t expected anything, but it was perfect. And for two years she’s had it mostly to herself, save for the occasional visitor who would poke their head in, wrinkle their nose, and then leave. She’s stayed in this dorm for this very reason; she could have more space elsewhere and it might be cheaper to live off-campus if she keeps her furniture afterward but this is reliable.

That is, until the door swings open one night when Masako’s reviewing her biology notes to reveal someone who clearly intends to stay a while. She’s carrying a pizza box in one hand and a textbook under her other arm—and she gives Masako a cheery wave. (She’s also incredibly beautiful, mile-long legs that her ultra-short pajama shorts do nothing to hide and eyes that can’t conceivably be that deep of a turquoise color, but Masako decides not to focus on that for the moment.)

“Do you want a slice? It’s pepperoni and mushroom.”

She seems sincere, and Masako hasn’t had anything to eat since her rushed dining hall dinner a few hours before, and pepperoni and mushroom are her favorite toppings. And if she has to talk to this girl for a little while longer, well. She’s easy on the eyes and Masako needs a break. So Masako nods.

“I’m Alex, by the way.”

“Masako.”

Alex nods. “It’s nice to meet you. I didn’t think there would be anyone down here; there usually isn’t.”

Masako raises an eyebrow—she’s come before? “I’ve never seen anyone else stay as long as you have right now.”

Alex shrugs; she’s taken her own slice of pizza—as Masako reaches out to grab one, she notices that it’s cold. Alex notices the hesitation of her hand and grins.

“I like cold pizza better.”

Masako snorts—it’s rude of her, but she really can’t help it. The matter-of-fact way Alex says it, along with the way she shovels more pizza into her mouth afterward, is really too much.

“What’s so funny?” says Alex, only she looks like she’s close to laughing, too.

* * *

 

Alex is a freshman; she’s majoring in economics, which Masako mercilessly makes fun of her for (after all, it’s business-lite) but Alex gives back every inch of what she takes when she tells Masako that she’s only doing sports medicine because she doesn’t have the chops to be a doctor (Masako reminds her that there’s no such thing as a physical education major, and that she doesn’t want to be a doctor but a high school gym teacher anyway, but Alex tells her that it’s not the point and she doesn’t really want to run a business either). She’s still taking all her gen-eds, though; one of them is language and oddly enough she’s settled on Japanese.

“Your kanji sucks,” Masako tells her, because it’s true.

Alex kicks her under the table and then sticks out her tongue. “I’ve only been working on it for like a month.”

“What character is that even supposed to be?”

Alex tries to hit Masako with her textbook, but Masako dodges, grinning. Alex pouts, over-exaggerated and fake, but it actually kind of looks cute on her (not that Masako will ever tell her that; that’s the last thing Alex needs to know).

“Show me, then,” Alex says, crossing her arms. “You’re the future teacher.”

Masako’s mouth is halfway to saying that teaching Alex the proper strokes to use is entirely different than showing high schoolers how to play basketball, but she recognizes a challenge where she sees one. So she crosses to the other side of the table and sits down next to Alex (her hair falls just to the point where it brushes the table, curling softly at the ends and casting shadows like tiger stripes on her arm; up close every twitch of her lips is captivating and Masako has to tear her face away).

She tells Alex every mnemonic device she learned as a child, every trick she can think of to make it easier, and Alex drinks it all in like a traveler at an oasis, watching every one of Masako’s example strokes and characters like she’s recording it with some kind of mental camcorder. And the way she looks at Masako, in almost adoration—well, it’s hard for Masako not to get her hopes up, even though she knows this is just classwork and learning (after all, Alex has to be somewhat interested in the subject considering all the other languages she could have taken) and considering the state of Alex’s writing and pronunciation her professor isn’t doing a great job. That’s all it is, really.

* * *

 

“Masako, I’m cold.”

“You’re the one who chose to wear short-shorts here.”

“What are you, my mother? You’re supposed to be sympathetic.”

Masako rolls her eyes and picks up her sweater from the back of her chair, placing it on the table—it’s large on her, but it’s still probably too small for Alex. “This won’t fit, but don’t say I didn’t try.”

Alex pulls the sweater over her head—it just barely fits, straining at the shoulders and chest, but it still looks more than okay on her.

“How come you’re so warm?”

“Good circulation,” says Masako. “And I’m wearing pants.”

Alex leans forward and then places her hand in Masako’s (and her skin is very cold indeed). Masako resists the urge to snatch her hand away and fervently tells her cheeks not to flush.

“Your hand is so warm,” Alex murmurs.

“You can hold it if you want,” says Masako (and oh, God, she’s turning into one of those cheesy rom-com characters).

Alex gently turns Masako’s hand over and clutches it in hers; her long and delicate fingers work their way across the palm Masako has always thought of as too small, as if Alex is some kind of fortune teller reading the lines in Masako’s hand through touch.

“My lips are cold, too,” Alex says after a long silence.

“You’re lucky I like you or that wouldn’t work,” says Masako before she leans all the way across the table.


End file.
